Hunting hunters
by ChickyAwesome
Summary: When a new case comes to Sherlock, he and John may be in over their heads. While they're trying to track serial killer, the Winchesters are on a hunt for an angry spirit.
1. The Case

**This is my first long story I've ever tried writing along with my fist time trying to write Sherlock or Supernatural. The first chapter is pretty short but I hope to have more up soon. Please enjoy and I would love to hear your input. **

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"Bored!"

"That doesn't mean you can mean you can practically burn down the flat, Sherlock."

_Bzzzz_

Sherlock and John looked up from the fresh burn marks on the table. A client. It had almost been a whole 24 hours without an interesting case and Sherlock was getting antsy. Once the women was sitting down in the flat Sherlock looked her over. She said her name was Rita, she was middle aged, dyed brown hair, original color showing slightly at her roots. Her hair was a mess, skin pale, bags under her eyes. Signs of grieving. The death was sudden and suspicious, but the police won't or more likely can't help her, which is why she is here.

"Ma'ma, if you don't mind, please tell us what's happened," John said in an encouraging voice.

"It's my nephew, Marcus, it happened about a month ago," She took a deep breath before continuing. "He was killed. He was in the states visiting a friend who had moved away a few years back. The police Marcus and two of his friends were taking a shortcut through the forest in order to get to their friend's house when they were… they were murdered."

Rita had said nothing so far that peaked Sherlock's interest. Most likely a robbery gone wrong, just a grieving aunt wanting justice.

John knew that so far Sherlock wasn't going to take the case, but he really did feel sorry for this women and wanted to help her, "I'm sorry for your loss, but why come to us? You must have talked to the police by now."

"My sister, Marcus's mother, and her husband have spoken with the police, but they haven't had a lead in weeks. All that they have done is identify the type of murder weapon and discover that two men were seen walking away from where Marcus and his friends were killed. Nobody knows who these men are and nobody can find them." Rita sounded desperate.

Sherlock guessed from the lack of wedding band that her nephew was the closest thing that she had to a child of her own. A murder sounded somewhat interesting, but not enough to travel to the states for.

Rita shifted in her seat, "The thing is , not only my nephew but his friends too, they," her voice cracked and she took a shaky breath, "their heads were cut off. All three of them."

Disappearing men, murder, beheading. This sounded interesting. Sherlock finally spoke up, "We'll take the case."


	2. The Chase Begins

After pulling a few strings ( and maybe hacking a few police firewalls ) Sherlock got his hands on a copy of all of the files and notes for case along with any similar cases in the area. Currently Sherlock was trying to deduce the most that he could from the crime scene photos while John was reading through computer files of other cases in the area.

"All that I've gotten is a few cases of people being mauled by mountain lions," John winced at one of the pictures and slumped back in his chair.

"How many?" Sherlock asked not looking away from the photo he was examining.

"Three. Two of the bodies were found days apart by hiking trails and one was found near the crime scene."

"Have there been any since?"

"Nope, no animal captured either," John could hear Sherlock hum a response, "Do you think there's any connection?"

"Three people are killed by an animal, three teenagers are killed with what is most likely a machete, then two men are seen leaving and it all stops," Sherlock paused for a moment, "I think they were the ones who killed Marcus Wilson and his friends. Actually I'm almost positive," he stated, turning his attention back to the photos, waiting a moment for John to ask.

"What have you found?"

"There were six sets of foot prints in the mud, three of which belonged to the victim, one set belongs to the women who discovered the bodies, which means the other two belong to our mystery men. Their tread marks were all over the area, so they didn't just happen upon the they were close to all of them," Sherlock held up one of the photos, "Steven Williams was the first to be murdered. The cut was clean, most likely he didn't even see it coming. There's a mark on the tree directly behind the body with slightly diagonal cut from what is presumably the murder weapon. Suggesting that the murderer was somewhat taller then the boy, matching one of the stride length that puts him at approximately about six foot one inch. The other stride length is wider, making that man about six foot four inches," Sherlock switched photos, "The next victim was Marcus Wilson. It's seems he charged at the men, probably the shorter one, tackling him to the ground. At that point our third victim, Robert Simpson, joined in and attacked the other man. Robert got thrown off and the taller man helped is accomplice over power Marcus and kill him," Sherlock changed pictures again, "At this point Robert tried to flee, but the men quickly caught up to him and severed his head as well."

John let out a frustrated breath as Sherlock finished speaking. Who in the world could do something like that to a bunch of kids? The thought started to make John furious and Shelock's coldness didn't help. John started to widen his search to more then just local reports until he found something else.

"Sherlock, come look at this," John said not taking his eyes off of his laptop screen.

Sherlock put down the notes he was reading and walked over to John, "What is it?"

"Two people were killed in their own homes then a corpse was burned in it's grave and the killing stopped," John explained as Sherlock took his laptop and read over the police reports. "All of this a week before Marcus and his friends were killed in a bordering state."

One of the notes caught Sherlock's attention. It had stated that two FBI agents examined the bodies and the crimes scenes. Sherlock quickly looked back at the reports of people who were attacked by an animal. There was a coroners note, two wildlife specialists confirmed that the deaths were caused by a mountain lion. While Sherlock did this, John started looking over the crimes scene photos. They were chasing a couple of serial killers, probably complete lunatics at that. The sound of gunfire pulled John from his thoughts. He looked up to see Sherlock had started a video on his laptop. John walked over and started watching over his shoulder. In the video there were two men firing at people inside a diner.

"Oh god." John whispered to himself as the video ended. After a long pause he finally asked, "Are those our guys?"

"Most likely. The height stride length and shoes all match. As they stated in the video, their names are Sam and Dean Winchester. They've been charged with several counts of grave mutilation, impersonating federal officers, and breaking out of a federal correctional facility among many other charges," Sherlock glanced at the laptop screen, "The only problem is; supposedly they're dead."

"What?" John said mostly out of shock.

"Dean Winchester died in years ago, he was discovered alive when he and his brother attempted to rob a bank. Then him and his brother, Sam Winchester, were presumed dead after an explosion at a police station they were being held in. They were discovered alive after they murdered several people at a bank and, as you saw, a diner. Authorities believe them to be dean after being shot by an officer and their bodies were incinerated." Sherlock relayed the information.

John swallowed, "And you don't think they're dead?"

"Not at all," Sherlock looked at John, "They've faked their deaths before and the only evidence of their deaths was one elderly officer and his daughter, the coroner. Both of which are dead now, John. Dead because they knew something they shouldn't have. The Winchesters must have gotten rid of all of their old aliases after their very public killing spree, Once I find those I should be able to find them."

"Sherlock, don't you think this is a little over our heads? These... these monsters are serial killers."

"Oh, but I do love serial killers." Sherlock argued, he then turned back to the laptop and started searching.

The music blasted in the impala as Dean floored it down the highway with the sun rising in the behind them. Sam was in the passenger seat skimming over the old news articles that he'd printed off. Every once in awhile one person would go missing after going into an old abandoned mansion just outside of a town in Montana. Only people who went in on April 23rd went missing. The disappearances are spread out enough that the cops missed it the pattern. They were currently heading to town to get a motel room then try and ask around some. Dean pulled the impala into the parking lot of a descent looking motel and got out to go check them in as Sam started to grab some stuff out of the trunk.

"Hey, I need a room for two," Dean said to the man behind the check-in desk.

The man looked at Dean then glanced out of the window at Sam, "I can get out you guys a double bed, if you want."

Dean sighed, "Nope, we need two singles. "

"Alright, but all's cool here," The guy behind the desk held out a key.

Dean took it the key and muttered a 'thanks' before going back out to Sam, "Come on." He said heading towards their room.

Sam grabbed the bag and quickly followed. Once in the room Sam set the bag down and sat down in a chair while Dean threw himself on one of the beds.

"Alright so, where are we starting, Sammy?" Dean asked, propping himself up.

"I want to hit to the library and see what I can find out about this family and house," Sam said.

"I'm going to go talk to some locals, see if they know what's going on," Dean said as he stood up and started heading towards the door.

Sam said as he got up from his chair and started leaving too.

Sherlock smirked down at his phone, he had just received a message. He knew the best way to find the Winchesters would require Mycroft's help, but it looks like it's paid off, "John, pack your bag." Sherlock quickly got out of his seat.

"What?" John looked over, confused.

"If we hurry and get on the next flight we will be there in time for dinner." Sherlock quickly went to his room.

John sighed and rolled his eyes, "Bloody hell," he mumbled, there was no room for arguing.

They were going to go catch a couple serial killers.


	3. What's A Little B&E Between Friends?

**This one is one the shorter side again, but hopefully I'll have more time to write soon. Please enjoy.**

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"I still don't understand, John."

John looked over at Sherlock. The sun was setting. They were currently in the back of a taxi on their way to a motel. Their small bags were crammed between them, they only packed essentials, like toothbrushes and a change a clothes. John was exhausted, he'd slept some on the plane, but it didn't help much. "Don't understand what?"

"Their movement, they don't make any sense," Sherlock sounded frustrated.

That's when John saw it or rather _him_. "Sherlock," there was alarm in his voice.

Sherlock turned and looked in the direction John was and there was Sam Winchester walking into a bar. "There. Pull into there," Sherlock instructed the driver, who quickly complied.

John paid the man, grabbed their bags and followed Sherlock into the bar. It was hot inside the small building, but there weren't many people in it. There they were, San ans Dean Winchester, sitting at a table along the wall. Sherlock walked over and sat down at the table next to theirs.

John hurried over and sat across from him, "Are you insane?" He whispered angrily.

"They haven't even noticed us," Sherlock whispered back.

Sam and Dean barely noticed that two guys sat down at the table behind them. They were busy going over the new information for the case.

"Get this, that mansion, a whole family was killed in it. Back in the day this girl Cassie Masters lost her mind after her hand got lobbed off in an accident. One night she drugged her parents and locked them in the garage with the car running, then she shot her little sister in the head and then herself. They were all cremated." Sam told Dean.

"Ya know, they say that that Cassie girl's hand still in the house somewhere." Dean tipped his drink towards Sam, "looks like we have crazy teenage girl on our hands. I mean what kind of psycho keep their disembodied hand?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "It all went down in April 23rd, tonight, Dean."

Dean sighed, "I gotta go take a leak." he stood up and started heading towards the bathroom.

At that very moment Sherlock stood up and walked right into Dean Winchester. John's jaw dropped.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sherlock apologized sounding perfectly innocent.

"Yeah, it's cool man," Dean said and continued to the bathroom.

Sherlock turned and started leading towards the door.

Sam watched as the British guy and his friend, who was carrying their bags, walked out of the bar.

"What was that?" John asked once they were safely out of the bar.

Sherlock held up a crumpled up receipt, "Now we know what room their staying in. The motel is near by."

John let out an angry huff and followed, "Why in the world would you risk them finding out that we're looking for them, just to know what room they're staying in?"

"To find out what they're up to, of course," Sherlock then walked up to the motel room door and proceeded to pick the lock.

"Sherlock!" John practically yelled.

Sherlock _shh_-ed him then turned back to the lock. John kept watch to make sure no one was watching as Sherlock popped open the door. Both of them hurried inside and shut the door.

Once in Sherlock quickly glanced around the room. There was a pile of papers in the small table in the room, most likely related to what the Winchesters were walking about back in the bar earlier. One of the was still perfectly made while the sheets on the other one were more crumpled, as if someone had laid on them. There was the canister of salt sitting on the bedside table, with a bag sitting in front of it.

John walked over and picked up the canister, setting their bags down, "Salt?"

"They seem to truly believe in ghosts," Sherlock said picking up the journal from the table and started flipping through it.

Suddenly the door flew open and there were guns trained on them.


	4. You're Never Gonna Believe This

**I rewrote that ghost story like five times in the last chapter. Trying to avoid plot holes for later chapters and such. Anyway please enjoy  
**

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John went for his own gun, but quickly remembered that it was back in the flat and immediately put his hands up in the air. Sherlock on the other hand only glanced away from the journal for a second before turning back to it.

"What's with British people thinking that I can't feel their hand in my pocket?" Dean smirked and glanced at Sam, who shook his head in response while keeping his gun and attention on John, before turning back to Sherlock, "Okay, you too Cheekbones, hands up."

"One moment." Sherlock said flipping the page.

"Sherlock." John said warningly.

Sam looked between John and Sherlock, "Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes?" He then lowered his gun.

Dean looked at his brother in confusion, "You know these guys?"

"Well not really, but that's Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. And he's," Sam gestured towards John, "John Watson, a doctor. I, ummm, like your blog." Sam said to John, who nodded back.

"Will you stop geeking out." Dean then turned back to Sherlock, "Mind tellin' me why the shell your in our room?"

"Working on a case," Sherlock said finally looking up from the journal, "Those disappearances caught my interest, but I see you're already aware of them."

John raised an eyebrow at his friend and lowered his arms as Dean lowered his gun.

"We're ghost hunters," Sam said realizing that Sherlock and John were probably listening in on them earlier, "we're in town investigating a ghost sighting."

Sherlock smirked, "So I was right, you two do believe in ghosts." John shot Sherlock a look and hoped he wasn't going to say something that would get them shot. "Your father was a marine. He most likely raised you single-handedly and was very strict in training you two. You move as if you've had training, but it's been modified. You didn't have a stable home life and moved around a lot as children," Sherlock looked at Sam, "You do most of the research and are at least a collage drop out, you went to the library earlier. Both of you do quite a bit of physical activity and work with your hand often, judging from the small scars on your hands," He then turned to Dean, "you more so, probably on your car. Grease under your fingernails. You may have struggled with alcoholism in the past. You were more hesitant to lower you gun before even after your brother did, you've been betrayed before. You have a strong connection with your father seeing your reaction when I mentioned him. You've tried hard to please your father, but have never gotten the recognition tha-" at that point Dean's fist collided with Sherlock's face, sending the latter backwards. At least he didn't get shot.

Sam grabbed Dean and pulled him away as John ran over to inspect the damage. Sherlock sat up and John could see a bruise forming on his cheekbone.

"You had it coming." John said as he helped his friend to his feet.

Sherlock gave him a small glare before looking back at the brothers. Dean was still fuming and struggling to get free while Sam desperately tried to hold him back, some serial killers they were.

"Sam and Dean Winchester." Sherlock said making both of them freeze. They were about to say something, but Sherlock cut them off before they could start, "The FBI would be _ecstatic_ to hear that the two of you are back from the grave again. Now you will answer all of my questions or we will contact the police. Oh and if any harm comes to me or John the FBI will be here just as quickly." Sherlock smiled at the dumbfound brothers.

Dean panicked and said the first thing that come to his head, "Hey, buddy we have no idea about what you're going on ab-"

"Don't play dumb with me, Dean, I know exactly who you are and what you've done. There are mysterious or strange deaths in an area, you two or rather your aliases show up, more deaths or a grave is burned, then you leave and the deaths stop. Vigilantist? Possibly, but then why burn corpses, ritualistic behavior, and the murder spree awhile back? And how did Dean fake his death after the murders in ? And if you are just serial killers, why the change in methodology?" Sherlock got ready for answers and John got ready for them to get shot.

"We're not serial killers," Sam started,"When I said we were ghost hunters I meant actual ghost hunters. We go after ghosts and demons and stuff like that. That's why we burn the bodies, to put the spirit to rest."

John couldn't believe what he was hearing and the way Sam said it too, he sounded to sincere about it all. Like he was telling the truth.

"Sam," Dean shot him a warning look.

"Dean, it's alright. The murders in , that was a shapeshifter that looked like Dean and the killing spree those were these things called Leviathan that just looked like up." Sam explained.

Sherlock sat back and took in this all in, "I understand."

"You do?" John and Dean said, both absolutely shocked. Even Sam looked surprised.

"And I won't call the police if you take us with you tonight." Sherlock watched the brothers reactions.

"What?" Sam asked sounding as surprised as Dean looked.

"But if you don't bring us along or if John or I are injured, I have people who contact the FBI and tell them my methods for tracking you, if they don't hear back from us soon. So, what will it be?" A smug smile crept on Sherlock's face.

Sam shot Dean is puppy-dog look until the older brother buckled, sighed in annoyance and said, "Fine! But you two are staying in the car." Dean pointed at Sherlock then John.

"Fine," Sherlock said.

John nodded, "I'm fine with that."

The four of them left the motel room and headed towards the impala with Sherlock and John in front and Sam and Dean following a few yards behind.

"They think we're whack jobs, Sammy." Dean whispered.

"I know, but at least it bought us some time," Sam watched the two men in front of them.

"These two are insane, Sherlock," John whispered.

"I am aware," Sherlock responded.

"Then why are we going with them?"

"Because I want to know exactly what is going on, John." Sherlock opened the passenger to the impala.

"Nope!" Sam quickly slid in, claiming his seat before Sherlock had a chance to get in.

John couldn't help but chuckle at the annoyance on Sherlock's face as they got into the back seat. Dean also seemed annoyed as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

There was something that John needed to know, "Does the name Marcus Wilson mean anything to you?" Dean and Sam looked back at him, both of them looked like they were straining to remember. Dean looked back at the road, but kept listening and watching in the mirror, "Or how about Steven Williams or Robert Simpson?"

There was a look a look of realization followed by an apologetic one. Sam turned so he was facing John more,

"About a month ago there was a vampire that was trying to start a new nest. She turned the three of them then walked them through their first kill. They had already killed a third person by the time we caught up with them," Sam sounded somewhat sad and a little angry, "We had to do it... If we didn't more people would have died."

John turned his head to watch out the window to look out of the window while Sherlock watched them. They went from an old dirt road on to a long paved driveway. Dean stopped in front of the gates. Sam got out and got some bolt cutters from the trunk then proceeded to cut through the chain holding the gate shut. Sherlock was slightly amused by their disregard for things like fences and gates. Once the gates were open Dean pulled through and parked in front of the mansion.

Dean turned back and looked at the Brits, "Now, stay here. We don't want nobody getting hurt. Ya got that, Cheekbones," He pointed at Sherlock, who rolled his eyes but nodded. Then Dean pointed to John, "Got it, John."

John nodded and mumbled, "Got it."

"Good," Dean said, then him and Sam got out of the impala and opened the trunk.

"Why does he call you by your name?" Sherlock hissed.

"I guess he likes me more," John responded.

Just then the brothers walked past each carrying a crowbar and shotgun.

"Stay here!" Dean called to them one last time before entering the mansion.

"We're not staying here, are we?" John asked, already knowing the answer.

"Definitely not," Sherlock replied, stepping out of the car.


	5. Believe Me Now?

They headed up to the front door, then waited a minute to give Sam and Dean a head start before going inside. The front room was large, with stairs leading up, a living room to the left and another door to the right. Everything was old and vintage looking, while being covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. Most of the windows were broken or boarded up, some of them still had tattered curtains hanging. There were old pictures hanging on the wall, most of which were of a family, a mother, a father, and two nearly identical looking daughters. Many of the frames were cracked and covered in dust.

John and Sherlock started up the stairs when the image of a young girl appeared in front of them. She had extremely pale skin and light blonde hair. She was wearing a 60's style dress that went just below her knees. The girl looked so real, but then she started phasing out. Suddenly she threw one of her hands up and Sherlock went flying backward. He went over all of the steps, but landed hard flat on his back at the bottom.

"Sherlock!" John called out in alarm, but he couldn't move. He looked forward again to see the girls hand resting on his chest. He found himself unable to move away or call out. That's when he felt her fingers start to dig into him and he couldn't breathe. John tried frantically to call for help or jerk away. He could hear Sherlock weakly call his name from the bottom of the stairs, but there was nothing he could do. A loud _bang_ echoed through the room and the girl disappeared. John grabbed onto the banister to keep himself from falling and started coughing.

"What happened to staying in the car?!" Dean was in front of his helping him back down the stairs.

Sam immediately went to the bottom of the stairs to help Sherlock up, "Do you believe me now?"

"Was that a-..." Sherlock started, not wanting to say something to absurd.

"A ghost? Yeah," Sam finished.

"Then why have I never-..."

"Tangled with one before? There are a lot of good hunters in London and all over England, they usually stop stuff before it even starts." Sam explained.

"Stop finishing my questions." Sherlock demanded

"Sorry," Sam apologized.

Sherlock rushed over to John as he reached the last step, "John, are you hurt anywhere?"

"No, Sherlock. I'm fine," John said trying to make his friend stop worrying.

"Come on, we're getting you guys out of here," Sam tried to push the door open, but it wouldn't move. Then he tried to kick it, but it still wouldn't budge, "She sealed us in."

Dean threw his hands up in the air in frustration, "Son of a bitch!"

"You stated that we need to burn the corpse, correct? How are we going to do that from inside here?" Sherlock looked at Sam.

"Yeah, but their bodies were cremated. Spirits can also get attached to objects, or a lock of hair and things like that, we think she's attached to her hand. So we need to salt and burn it."

"But the ghost we say had both of her hands," John said.

Sam looked down at him, "Not every spirit looks _exactly _like they did before death."

"We still see some pretty ugly sons of bitches," Dean added, his brother rolled his eyes.

Sherlock started looking around the room.

"We should go into teams and split up," Dean said, "John and I wi-"

Loud footsteps cut Dean off. He turned to see Sherlock running up the stairs.

"You dick, don't run off on your own!," Dean yelled as he ran up after Sherlock.

Sam looked over at John, "I guess we're together."

"Fine by me. Where do we started?" John glanced around the large room.

"First things first," Sam handed John his crowbar and canister of salt, "Iron and salt repel ghosts, if she comes at you again at least you have a weapon now,"

John nodded and gave a polite smile, "Thank you. Now we're looking for a hand?"

"Yeah, we just need to salt and burn it and the spirit is gone," Sam gestured towards the living room and John walked in with him.

"So, you read my blog?" John asked feeling a little bit flattered.

"Ah, yeah. It's pretty interesting and some the of stuff Sherlock says actually has helped out on cases," Sam smiled.

"I actually believed you two were psychopathic serial killers," John shook his head at himself.

"It happens a lot," Sam shrugged.

They started searching the living room. It was filled with old furniture, fabric faded and ripped in some spots. An old painting laid against the wall. Some photographs sat on top of the fireplace with the chimney caved in. Some things were turned over and moved around, but for the most part everything was in place. They practically turned the place inside out trying to find the hand. They could hear Dean and Sherlock stomping around upstairs.

Dean wondered how the hell he got stuck with Sherlock as the other man passed around the room. Sherlock purposely stepped loudly as he walked.

"Why the hell are you walking like that?" Dean groaned.

Sherlock had an annoyed look, "I'm searching for the hand," Dean looked at him questioningly so Sherlock continued, "If it was out in the open or easy to find somebody would have already taken it. So it must be somewhere not easy to get to," Sherlock said moving the bed over.

"Take this," Dean held out his canister of salt, "if ghost girl comes back, throw some on her and make a circle around yourself."

Sherlock took the salt as Dean left the room and called from the top of the stairs, "Hey, Sammy!"

"Yeah, Dean?" Sam called back.

"Try looking for a trap door or something!"

"Got it," Sam replied.

"Good, be careful," Dean started back down the hall towards the room. Half way down the he froze. Dean quickly started to turn while raising his shotgun, but he was thrown down the hallway. As Dean went to sit up the ghost pinned his shoulders down and straddled his waist. He tried to grab his crowbar, but couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Suddenly she was gone and Sherlock stood over Dean.

"Hm, salt really does work," Sherlock said matter-of-factly and held his hand out to Dean.

"Iron works too," Dean took his hand and stood up, "Usually I like girls being in that position." Dean gave a smirk.

"...Yes, now let's get back to work," Sherlock said stiffly.

Dean looked him over.

"What?" Sherlock looked back at Dean.

"Have you ever?" Dean started but the look on Sherlock's face said it all, "Man, first Cas now you." Sherlock started walking away. Dean smirked and followed him, "Hey, there's no shame in it."

Sherlock stopped to pick up Dean's shotgun, "How in the world does this help to fight ghosts?" He couldn't believe the phrase 'fight ghosts' just seriously came out of his mouth. Sherlock held the gun out to Dean, who took it.

"Salt rounds," Dean explained showing Sherlock one of the extra rounds from his pocket, "made them myself."

"I do see how that could be more useful than this," Sherlock held up the salt and shook it a little before turning into the one of the rooms.

Dean followed him in and while Sherlock stomped on the floor, he went around knocking on the walls. Sherlock was glad Dean was finally making himself useful. He hadn't meant to offend the other man earlier, just throw him off, really he should have seen it coming.

"I think we've got something!" They could hear John call from downstairs.

By the time they made it down and into the living room John and Sam had been using the crowbar to knock a hole into the wall and were now holding a mostly decomposed human hand. They heard a scream from behind them and the sound of Sam's shotgun hitting the floor. Sam had went flying though the open doors leading to the kitchen, taking out an old table when he landed. Dean shot at the ghost before tossing his lighter fluid and lighter to John.

"Torch that thing." Dean said before running into the kitchen after his little brother, "Come on, Sammy." He helped pull Sam to his feet.

John had just poured the salt and fluid on the hand when the kitchen doors flew shut. He and Sherlock looked up to see the spirit standing between them and the door. They could hear Sam and Dean call to them and kick at the door. John turned back to the hand and tried to ignite the lighter, while Sherlock used the last of the salt in his can to make a ring around them.

Sherlock picked up the crowbar, "Hurry, John," it was obvious the girl was up to something.

"I'm trying, it's this damn lighter!" John tried frantically to get the flame to stay, but every time it went out as quickly as it lit.

The girl smiled. A wind came from one of the open windows, blowing the salt away.


	6. The Real Hunt Begins

The spirit moved in closer. Sherlock swung the crowbar at her, but she reappeared immediately. Right behind John. Sherlock hit her again, this time she appeared a few feet away. He glanced back to see John had gotten the flame to stay and was igniting the hand. Suddenly he couldn't breathe. Sherlock looked forward to see the spirit's hand in his chest. John didn't understand, the hand was burning. Why wasn't she going away? He dove for Sam's shotgun and fired at the ghost, hitting her. John ran to Sherlock's side to keep him from falling, the detective coughed and gasped. The spirit came back again as Sam and Dean came running in through the entrance leading from the front room. Dean fired at the ghost and this time she didn't reappear.

"Are you guys okay?" Sam asked, concern written all over his face.

Sherlock nodded, standing on his own now, "Yes, we are."

"What the hell was that? Why didn't she go away when we burned her hand?" John could still feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other before Sam admitted, "We're not sure. If there's and remains left the spirit attaches it self to that."

"Except those weren't her remains," Sherlock informed, looking at the burn bits of hand still left on the floor. He knew everyone was looking at him waiting for answers, "The hand we found is too large, it doesn't match the bone structure and the size of the spirit's hand."

"So, your saying that hand isn't Cassie's?" Dean asked.

"No, that hand did belong to Cassie, but that spirit isn't her," Sherlock answered.

"It makes sense. Her sister, Elizabeth, also had a violent death. She could have easily have become a vengeful spirit," Sam said, wishing he would have noticed that something was off.

"Awesome," Sarcasm in Dean's tone was overwhelming as he threw his hands up.

"How did you two get out of the kitchen?" John looked between the brothers.

Sam cleared his throat and ran his finger's through his hair, "There was a part of the wall that was mostly rotting wood so we just sort of, umm, broke through it," Sam sounded a little embarrassed that they didn't have a clever way of getting out, but Dean proudly held up the crowbar.

"We ended up in a storage room and had to find our way through this place," Dean looked them over, "Nice job fighting off that spirit."

"If there are no remains left, that means the spirit is attached to an object?" John looked around it room. What in the world could it be?

"Find every photo, every single on and bring them to me," Sherlock demanded.

"Wait, we can't leave either of you guys alone," Sam objected.

"Fine," Sherlock started walking towards the front room, "I'm going to Elizabeth's room, for whom ever cares to join me."

"Dammit," Dean said and started following Sherlock, "Sam, John, grab all if the picture from down here, we'll cover the upstairs."

Sam nodded, "Alright," Then he and John started gathering all the the pictures as Sherlock and Dean disappeared up the stairs.

As they walked down the all Dean grabbed all of the pictures off of wall, that they passed. Sherlock entered Elizabeth's room with Dean right behind him.

Dean poured a circle of salt around Sherlock, "Stay here. I'm gonna go grab the rest of the of the pictures up here," He gave Sherlock the salt.

"Alright, don't let her sneak up on you again," Sherlock tried not to smirk.

Dean groaned and left the room. Sherlock glanced around, being careful not to step out of the protective ring around him. He rather disliked suffocating under that spirit's touch. The room was a very light pink, paint color faded. There were large, old curtains barely hanging in front of the window. The sheets mostly hung off of the torn mattress. There were stuffed animals scattered around. Some were missing limbs, others stomachs were ripped open, some had eyes missing. It could have been Elizabeth who ripped them apart, or just some teenagers who came in here for kicks. No photos hung in the room, but there was a deliberately broken mirror. Dean walked back into the room, arms full of pictures. Sherlock walked out of the circle and started looking through the dresser drawers.

"You figured anything out?" Dean set the pictures down in a pile.

"Nothing certain, just several theories," Sherlock tucked a diary under his arm after flipping though a few pages and moved on to the next drawer. This one was filled with pictures, but everyone with the girl's parents their faces were covered in ink and their eyes were poked out, but never either of the daughters, "It seems that somebody disliked their parents."

"What is it?" Dean looked over Sherlock's shoulder and whistled when he saw the pictures, "Damn,"

"Indeed," Sherlock agreed and handed Dean the pictures, who threw them in the pile with the rest, before turning to look under the bed. He pulled and small box out from under it and set it on the mattress. Sherlock opened the box and was rather unsurprised by it's contents. All the evidence seemed to be supporting one of his theories. John came in the room with one arm full of pictures, in the other was Sam's shotgun. Followed by Sam, who was carrying a box full of pictures. John felt a little safer holding the shotgun and Sam knew it, plus he felt like he owed it to John after him and his friend almost got killed by a ghost under Sam's protection. He also felt like he could trust John to handle the gun. They set the pictures that they'd gathered in the pile and Sherlock started sorting though them.

John glanced over at the bed, "Sherlock, why are there animal bones in that box?"

"Elizabeth displayed some early signs of a future serial killer," Sherlock explained while sorting the photos, "You should read her diary, she talks about it."

Sam ran his fingers though his hair, "What else have you found out?"

Dean scuffed, "Dude, this chick seriously hated her parents."

"Yes and she was the one who killed them," Sherlock looked at some of the older pictures of the sister together. He could feel John giving his that look that he makes when he wants more answers, "She showed signs of possibly becoming a killer, while her sister showed none. She despised her parents and there are ways that a 15 year old girl could get her drugged parents into the garage."

"What about her sister? Cassie shot herself," Sam asked really wanting to know what Sherlock figured out.

"The police did get that one right. Elizabeth adored her sister, which is why she tried so hard to stop from burning her hand. Cassie probably killed her sister immediately after finding out about what her sister did to their parents and couldn't handle it," Sherlock explained.

"Poor Cassie," Sam muttered as he glanced over some of the pictures.

Dean nodded, "Hey, Cheekbones, what else do you got?"

Sherlock shot Dean an annoyed look before continuing, "I have a few possible items the spirit could be attached to-"

One of the large curtains flew across the room and covered them. All of them thrashed to get free. When Dean got his head out, him and John made eye contact. They both quickly looked around Elizabeth's room, feeling a little bit of panic rise up.

"Sam!?"

"Sherlock?!"

Neither of them were anywhere in sight,


	7. Separation Issues

**This one's shorted again 3 We're starting to near the end now, just a little bit left. Thank you and enjoy**

* * *

Sam's cheek felt cold from resting on the cold cement floor. As he started to come to he looked around. He was in an old garage, no car in to, but there were old stains in the floor and tools along the wall. Slowly Sam pushed himself up to a sitting position. Sam nearly jumped when he saw Sherlock laying next to him. He was out cold, but at least he was breathing.

Sam started to shake him by his shoulder, "Sherlock."

Sherlock shot straight up and looked over at Sam before glancing around the room and looking back at Sam, "She took us to the garage."

"Yeah. This is bad," Sam started to stand up.

"It seems so," Sherlock agreed and moved so that his back was against the wall.

Sam knew it wouldn't work, but he tried to open the garage door leading outside anyway. When that didn't work he tried to kick the leading into the house, "Dean!" He called out getting no response.

"Why are you doing that when you know it's not going to work?" Sherlock figured Sam was more reasonable, even if he tended to show more sympathy then his brother.

"It was worth a shot," Sam shrugged and leaned on the door.

Sherlock looked him over again, "I see."

"So, why us? Why did she take just us? I can understand why she too you, but me too?" Sam tried to think of a reason.

"There must be some kind of similarity between the two of us reminds Elizabeth of her parents, but what is it?" Sherlock tried to thinkabout everything he knew about Sam Winchester. They were both younger brothers. They both had meddling older brothers. Both of them had ran into trouble attending school, Sam from moving and was a target of bullies, Sherlock would get bored and deduce things about his teachers and classmates. But was any of that similar with both of the girl's parents?

Sam noticed something about Sherlock, something he wished he didn't have experience with. Something about Sherlock just... "I used to be an addict," Sam admitted, causing the detective to jerk his head up at him.

"That wasn't in your records," Was all that Sherlock could think to say.

"Records?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"With the FBI. You and your brother caused quite a bit of trouble, even before the 'leviathan' incident," Sherlock explained, "Why bring up your addiction now?" He knew why, but he wanted to know what Sam knew.

"That might be the thing we have in common with Cassie and Elizabeth's parents. Both of them were recovering addicts," Sam thought aloud.

Sherlock paused for a moment, "If that is correct and we truly do have a connection with the Masters, the two of us could possible share their fate,"

Dean paced back and forth in Elizabeth's room, trying to think of a game plan, while John swore quietly to himself. Sam's crowbar and shotgun laid on the floor next to his and Sherlock's cellphones.

"We need to find them," Dean finally decided.

John looked over at him, "Agreed," He nodded and looked down at the photos on the floor.

Dean handed him Sam's shotgun, "Here, you'll need this."

"Thanks you," John said taking it. He picked up the crowbar and the mobiles then followed Dean into the hallway.

They walked up and down the hall looking though each room. There was no sign of Sherlock or Sam anywhere. As they started down the stairs, John watched Dean.

"What is it?" Dean could tell John's eyes were on him.

"Oh, umm, sorry. It's just Sherlock had said your father was a marine and he had trained you," John felt a little awkward.

Dean looked back at him, "Yeah. He taught us a lot back when we were kids. Sam said you were a doctor, right?"

"Yes, I was a doctor back in the army, but now I just work at a clinic and with Sherlock," John reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped behind Dean into the living room.

"Man, you really like this kinda stuff, don't you?" Dean looked up the crumbled fireplace.

"What do you mean?" John straightened up slightly.

Dean looked over at him. John had that same look he and Sam had, but with John, something about it was different, "Nothing, it's just that, with most people, seeing the stuff you've seen, would kill to get out and stay out."

"Would you?" John asked without even thinking. Dean paused and looked away, trying to think of a smartass answer. John could see him struggle to answer, "I shouldn't be asking stuff like that, I'm sorry."

"It's cool, man. Let's just keep looking," Dean walked into the kitchen and open the refrigerator, making the door almost fall off.

John stared at the Sam sized hole in the wall, "You did that?" he asked pointing at it.

Dean smiled triumphantly, "Yeah."

That's when they heard the banging.


	8. Trapped

**I just got my uncle into Doctor Who so we've been marathoning it and I accidentally started writing Sherlock in the Doctor's voice. The thought was kinda hilarious, but I had to go back and rewrite some of his lines. Anyway enjoy. **

* * *

"Why would those 'leviathan' take your and your brother's form to kill people?"

"Huh?" Sam looked over at Sherlock.

"I could understand why they would want you out of the way, but what about other people like you?" Sherlock tilted his head.

"Most other hunters didn't know about them, just me, Dean and our friend. They were locked away since, well forever, so most other hunters didn't know they were out and about." Sam explained.

"That does make sense," Sherlock nodded.

"Before you said that you were here for a case. How did you find us?" Sam wanted to hear more of Sherlock's deductions in-person.

Part of Sherlock was a little excited to get to show off, "A client came to us with a case about her nephew and his friends who were murdered."

"Marcus, Steven and Robert. The kids who were turned into vamps."

"Yes. She wanted me to find his killers. Once I had gotten a hold of the files and police reports, we started to compare them to other cases in the area for similarities. Two men claiming to be some type of official, usually FBI, arrive after strange deaths, seemed to fit many cases. I then searched for criminals fitting those charges, that's when I discovered you and your brother," Sherlock stood up from his seat against the wall, "I looked though everything the FBI had in you, including your aliases. John and I figured out that many of the names that you two were using are names of old band members and movie references. Then I had my brother look for similar names popping up at cheap motels, until we got a definite hit. You two were more difficult to find then most, probably because you've been learning thins since you were a child. This has been a very interesting case, very educational."

"Thank you?" Sam didn't really know how to respond to that, "So, now way out of here, huh?"

Sherlock looked around one last time, "It would seem so."

"Oh no," Sam whispered, looking at the opposite corner of the garage.

The detective looked over to see the spirit standing there and around her there was what looked like to be car exhaust, slowly filling the enclosed space. Sam started running for one of the tools, hoping one of them would be iron, only to be thrown back by the girl, landing at Sherlock's feet.

Sam started banging on the door. Dean and John ran back though the living room and the front room to the door on the other side of the room.

"Sammy!" Dean called as he reached the door.

"Dean!" Sam responded, "Dean, we're trapped in here and it's filling with car exhaust."

Dean swore under his breath, "Don't worry, we'll get you out."

"Sherlock, are you in there?" John wanted to know if his friend was alright.

Sherlock attention quickly turned from the spirit to his blogger, "John, you need to find a doll with blonde curls, a necklace with a large heart shaped pendant, and a golden, embroidered hair pin. They were all gifts from her sister and Elizabeth seemed to be very attached to those items particularly."

"Alright, we'll find them," John swallowed, "Just hang in there." He turned to Dean, "I'm going to go to look in her room." John then sprinted up the stairs.

"You'll be out in no time," Dean then ran towards the end of the room, where there was a small door that he and Sam found while trying to get back to Sherlock and John earlier.

Sam slumped against the door trying to think of a way to buy them some time.

John was up in Elizabeth's room, throwing open all of her drawers, everything out, from under the bed, trying desperately to finds the items. he tried not to panic, but the image of his best friend suffocating wouldn't stay out of his head. Jon swore at himself, trying to focus and look faster, tearing the room apart in the process. He hadn't found anything.

Dean slammed the door open and stared into the packed storage room. Most of the room was full of old crap except for the path he and Sam had made. Dean started looking for labels, ripping open boxes and throwing the useless ones off to the side. This was going to takes forever, there was noway he was going to find anything in time. There had to be a faster way.

Sherlock had wrapped his scarf over his nose and mouth, while Sam used his own shirt. Both of them were trying to a way to stay above the fumes that were now settling on the floor in front of them.

John was now demolishing Cassie's room trying to find the items. As he flipped the mattress over something shiny caught his eye. A golden hair pin landed by his foot with a _tink. _He quickly picked it up and held it tightly, moving to look though the closet. Just then Dean ran into the room.

"Got anything?" He asked.

"Hair pin," John showed him the small piece of gold in his hand.

Dean nodded, "Good. Come on, I've got an idea," He started running back downstairs.

Sam started to feel light headed. Any move he or Sherlock tried to make to get to the tools, or anything else that could be of any use to them, would just get them thrown back by the sealed door. The haze of exhaust was thickest on the other side of the garage, by the tools and the spirit.

There was a pile of boxes waiting for John in the middles of the front room. Dean had piled any box with Elizabeth's name on it or that looked like it could be her's.

"We're burning it all," Dean held his hand handed him the lighter and the lighter fluid. He then put the pin in the pile and started throwing salt in everything, while Dean poured lighter fluid in it.

Sherlock coughed and used the wall for support. His brain screamed at him to get above the fumes, but there was no place he could go. Soon he would pass out.

Dean flicked the lighter and ignited the boxes, then stepped back and watched it burn.

Sam saw the flash of flames and the scream the spirit made. As fast as his fumbling hands would allow him, he grabbed the doorknob and threw it open. Both Sherlock and Sam fell though the doorway and landed on the floor, hard. They gasped and coughed for air. John and Dean ran to their sides. They felt ready to pass out, but at least they were alive.


	9. Hunting

**Wow, we're at the end. This has been a lot of fun. I hope everyone has enjoyed reading it. You can probably take a guess on what one of my favorite songs is after reading this. Enjoy and goodbye for now.**

* * *

Dean and John managed to get Sam and Sherlock into the impala and back to the motel. John went to get him and Sherlock a room while he and Winchesters went together to get Sherlock's and John's bags. When Sherlock got into the room he looked over at the journal, still on the table.

"That was your father's, correct? He seems to have wrote down quite a lot of valuable information," Sherlock said, still looking at it.

Dean looked over, "Yeah, he kept everything in there."

"I see, Sherlock tucked everything he had read in that journal away in his mind palace.

John walked into the room holding a key, "Alright, we're a few rooms down." He looked at the brothers, "That was... different."

Dean chuckled, "Yeah. Hey, in the morning how about we give you a lift to the airport."

"Really? That'd be great," John accepted.

"Well, we're kinda the whole reason you're here in the first place," Sam added.

Sherlock was too busy reading the journal to contribute to the conversation.

"Sherlock," John eyed his friend, who looked up from the book, "_You're_ carrying the bags this time."

The detective rolled his eyes and picked up the bags. He started following John out of the door when Sam stopped him.

Dean held out his hand, "Journal."

Sherlock took the journal out of his pocket and placed it in Dean's hand.

"Nice try," Dean pit his hand on the back of Sherlock's shoulder and lead him out of the room.

"See you guys in the morning," Sam called to them as his brother shut the door, "Sherlock is pretty interesting in learning stuff about hunting..."

Dean sighed and shook his head, "Man, I don't even want to think about that right now. Let's just get some sleep."

John pushed the door open, kicked off his shoes, then flopped down on one of the beds. He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Sherlock somewhat tired himself. He set the bags down next to the door, took his scarf off and coat off, before laying down on the bed. He stared at the dark ceiling, making sure to remember everything. He took Dean's mobile out of his pocket and looked though it for any valuable information. Sherlock memorized some names and numbers, then put the mobile away. Before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep.

When John woke up, Sherlock had already showered, changed his clothes, and finished getting ready. He was currently stuffing yesterdays dirt covered clothes into his bag. John pushed himself up in bed.

Sherlock looked over at him, "Oh, you're awake. Get dressed, Sam borrowed us his toothpaste, we're leaving soon."

"Good morning to you too," John got off of the stiff motel mattress, grabbed his bag and went into the tiny bathroom. He quickly showered, dressed, and brushed his teeth, before exiting the cramped room.

There was a knocking at the door. Sherlock opened it to see Sam and Dean standing there, Dean had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

"Hey. You guys ready to go?" Sam asked.

Sherlock picked up his bag, "Yes." He stood to leave, but Dean stopped him.

"Phone," Dean ordered.

Sherlock tossed the phone into the air, "The battery is dead."

Dean caught it and tried to turn it on. The screen stayed back, "Dammit."

"Well, let's go then," Sherlock started walking towards the car.

John grabbed his things and hurried over, Thank you," he gave Sam his toothpaste back, then turned to face Dean, "I'm sorry about him. He has a habit of stealing from people that annoy him."

Dean groaned, "Why am I the one that annoys him? Sam's annoying. Why doesn't Sherlock bother him." Sam made his bitch face.

"Maybe it's the nickname," John suggested.

"You think so?" Dean thought about it.

Sam shook his head at his brother and went to return the room key.

"Try it," John went to go join Sam.

Dean walked over to his baby. Sherlock was standing next to it. He popped open the trunk and tossed the duffel bag in.

"Hey, Sherlock, wanna throw your back in the back here?" Dean offered.

Sherlock looked at him, eyes wide, trying to hide his surprise, "Ah, yes. That would be nice," He walked up next to Dean, then noticed what else was in the trunk.

Dean saw his staring at the trunk, "That's all our gear."

Sherlock mentally took notes of the contents, "And you always carry this around."

"Yeah, just about everywhere," He knew the look on Sherlock's face, "If you're thinking what I think you're thinking, don't-"

"Hey, you ready?" Sam unknowingly cut his brother off.

Dean looked away from Sherlock, "Yeah. John just come put your bag in the trunk and we can hit the road."

Soon everything we situated and they were in the road again. Sherlock was pouting about not getting shotgun again. John rolled his eyes at him. He watched out the window before asking,

"Did you two ever get the vampire that 'turned' Marcus and his friends?" John wanted to know if he could tell Rita that her nephew's real killer was dead.

"Yeah, we caught up with her right after we found the boys," Sam said, followed by a moment of awkward silence.

Dean couldn't stand it for long and turned on the radio.

_At about 1 this morning, the Master's manor was burnt to the ground. There was a black car seen leaving the property shortly before the mansion was in flames, if you have any other information please ca-_

Dean quickly turned it back off. The four of them glanced at each other. Then they started laughing.

"So, how do you feel about some music?" Dean asked.

"I usually only listen to classical, but John tends to have a more common taste," Sherlock ignored the look that John was now giving him.

Sam gave them his 'I'm sorry for my brother look' as Dean smirked and put in one of his cassettes, cranking the radio. The opening cords started blasting, Dean loudly, proudly, and badly sang along.

"She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best woman that I ever seen," Dean started, making his brother look away in embarrassment. John couldn't keep himself from laughing, even Sherlock was amused, "Hey, Cas likes my singing."

Right on cue, there was suddenly something between John and Sherlock, a human sized something. In a trench coat. John jumped and turned, pressing his back against the door. Sherlock looked him over. His mind raced, trying to find a way the man could have just appeared in the vehicle.

"Whoa!" Dean finally noticed Cas in the backseat and jumped, causing him to jerk the wheel. The car skidded to a halt and the boys turned to look at their friend.

"Cas!" Sam yelled.

"What the hell, man. You almost made me crash my baby!" Dean gave the angel a stern look.

Cas kept a mostly straight face, with a hint of annoyance, "I am sorry, but I require your assistance."

"Cas, we have company," Sam motioned towards Sherlock and John, both of who were staring at Cas.

The angel looked at the men on each side of him, "Hello I am Castiel."

Sherlock kept scanning him, nothing made sense.

"How did you get in here?" John asked, "We were moving."

Cas turned to him, "I am an angel, I can go wherever I desire."

John couldn't believe his ears. An angel? There was something different about this guy, but an angel. Really?

"Show me," Sherlock demanded.

Cas sighed, but figured this was the fastest way to get the Winchesters to himself. He placed his hands and Sherlock's and John's shoulders.

They were standing in the flat. Spinning in circles, Sherlock examined to room. Everything was right where is should be. John just stood there, eyes wide, having no idea about what he should do. Sherlock turned to say something to Castiel, but he was gone. It was just him and John.

"What the hell was that?" John asked after a minute.

"We were just teleported part way across the world, in less then a blink of an eye," Sherlock stated.

They met eyes, then busted out laughing. They only stopped when Cas returned.

"I, umm forgot your bags," He said awkwardly. He set the bags down and was gone again.

Sherlock smirked, "This 'hunting' sound very interesting."

* * *

**Th-th-th-that's all folks 3**


End file.
